


poison oak

by kveikur (orphan_account)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:04:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kveikur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he is like the poison oak that blooms on the side of the house, he is a constant, </p><p>until he isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	poison oak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Exterminatorviolence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exterminatorviolence/gifts).



> because bright eyes.

You've been with him forever, his companion always, his best friend. He looks up to you, bright brown eyes glimmering up at you after you crack a joke, whether it's sarcastic or dry or genuine. When you were neighbours as kids you talked through the classic tin-can-on-a-string for communication and took pictures with your mom's old Polaroid you found in the attic. You convinced him to dress up in old women's clothes that you found at the thrift shop and you've still got the black and white glossy photos as proof. He was mad at you for awhile about that, futilely trying to snatch them from your deft fingers, but his short height had given you the advantage. Some nights he fell asleep in your lap, murmuring his fears.

_spiders, losing you,_

_what aren't you scared of?_ you joke, but his eyes are intense when he answers. 

_death,_

It bothers you that someone so much younger is so much more mature than you. 

You realise that the lines between friendship and something more are being blurred and you're scared. 

The night he left you were angry. Worry and guilt were hidden, masked by the sheer size of it. He was gone for days, he had taken your shared car and left only a note informing you he was staying with family in Mexico for a few weeks. He came crawling back by the end of the month, apologising profusely for the fake checks he had sent to cover the due rent. You were young enough still though, you believed it was a war. 

The night he died, you were angry. However your tears came at night, invisible strips of words rolling off of your tongue, filled with things you could never say to him because he was gone forever, this time. You realised how small you were, a single cell on the tongue of the large, breathing serpent that is the world. 

It rains that night, and when you go out to smoke your first cigarette in nearly two years you catch sight of the garden, muddy as hell, and you curse the boy that's not by your side. 

_Lucky you got out of this thing we had_ , you think bitterly at the funeral, feeling stiff at the touch of his younger brother sobbing into your jacket. You don't bother to wrap your arms around him-he looks too much like his brother-and instead you bring your nearly-gone cigarette to your lips. You've been chainsmoking since that morning and you find yourself hoping that maybe soon you'll disappear just like him. 

The hotel you're staying at has a piano in the lobby and you don't know how to play and the keys are reversed to you, black where white should be and vice versa and you're drunk, drunk as hell, body feeling stiff and bruised with the force of his _goneness_ knocking into you-the realisation that he was all you ever really had, not bothering with other human interaction because _he was enough._ Except the hollow noise of your fingers hitting the wooden keys makes you understand that you like it that way. 

Poison oak that had been struggling to grow properly on the side of your house bloomed with the rain, but you left it as a tribute to _him_.


End file.
